


interlude

by fishpoets



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Lyrium Withdrawal, Post-Here Lies the Abyss, Vignette, implied cullen/inquisitor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-10-25 19:17:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10770720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishpoets/pseuds/fishpoets
Summary: Rylen and the Commander, a conversation after the battle at Adamant.





	interlude

**Author's Note:**

> Found this old thing on my harddrive :0
> 
> I frickin love Rylen you guys dont even know

 

Rylen's just finished his meal and is heading back to his tent when he bumps into the Commander, walking up the slope from the Healers' tents and looking rather worried.

 

"Something the matter, Commander?" he calls.

 

Cullen glances up. "Ah, Knight-Captain," he says, picking his way slowly over the uneven ground. "You haven't seen the Inquisitor, have you? I thought she might be helping the Healers, but she's not."

 

"Not recently, no," Rylen says, shaking his head. "She was going around the troops earlier, making sure people weren't needing for anything, but that was a couple of hours ago, now. ..You alright, ser?"

 

"Yes, of course. Do you know where she went after that?"

 

"No. Though, now that I think of it, that boy was with her."

 

"Boy?"

 

"The one with the hat."

 

"Right. Cole." Cullen sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. "At least she's not alone, then." He drops the hand to the back of his neck and looks away, frowning into the dark with his brow furrowed.

 

He looks tired, Rylen thinks. More so than usual. Sounds it, too, his voice hoarse and weakened from over-use.

 

"Was there something important, ser?" he asks.

 

"Hm? Oh, no, not really." Cullen shifts his weight gingerly from one leg to the other. "I only... the battle was hard, especially for the Inquisitor. And it's only been a day, so I thought – I thought I ought to check on her."

 

Inwardly, Rylen smiles to himself. Cullen's hidden it well – for the most part he's been the very picture of professionalism – but the signs are there for someone who knows how to read them, and right now they're as obvious as dragon-fire. He's smitten, poor man. Not that Rylen blames him. The Inquisitor's an impressive woman, after all, powerful and rather imposing despite her soft face and diminutive size. She could make Cullen very happy, one day – if he ever gets the nerve to do something about it.

 

But now's not the time for subtle hints or teasing, or _un_ subtle hints, for that matter. The Commander's right, the battle was hard. Fierce and bloody and gruesome. Rylen's still a little shaken, if he's honest, and he didn't get attacked by a blighted dragon, or fall through a rift to take a wander through the Fade.

 

"I'm sure she'd appreciate your intentions, ser," he says, fully meaning the double entendre, "but – and forgive me for being presumptuous – if you can't find her, perhaps that's 'cause she doesn't want to be found."

 

Cullen assesses him for a moment, then looks back down at the sand and grit beneath his feet. After a pause, he nods. "You're probably right." He steps away a couple of paces. "Thank you, Rylen."

 

"If I see her, shall I tell her you're looking for her?"

 

"No, don't bother her. I'll speak to her tomorrow."

 

Cullen makes to walk away again, but as he takes another step he sways dangerously.

 

"Whoa," Rylen reaches out to steady him. "Easy there, Commander."

 

"I'm fine," Cullen huffs, shrugging Rylen's hands off his shoulders.

 

"Pardon my Orlesian, ser, but like fuck you are."

 

Cullen scowls at him but says nothing. Rylen just folds his arms and raises an eyebrow and frowns right back.

 

"Maybe it's none of my business, ser," he says, "but how much have you slept this past week?"

 

"Enough."

 

Rylen makes a dubious noise. "Really? Because last I checked, 'falling over from exhaustion' didn't qualify as 'enough'. But if you say otherwise, I guess I must be mistaken."

 

Cullen clenches his jaw and looks out over the rows of tents, at his men gathered around the campfires, some celebrating their victory, others mourning their dead. He opens his mouth to speak, but Rylen interjects before he can make an excuse.

 

"Listen, Cullen," he says, more gently than before, "these are good men you've got here; they're strong, they're capable. You've trained them well." He risks putting a hand back on Cullen's armoured shoulder. "We've already won the battle. The whole operation's not going to fall apart if you lie down for a few hours and get some bloody rest."

 

Cullen works his jaw for a moment before he sighs, and leans slightly into Rylen's hand.

 

"..I've tried," he mutters. "It's – I'm finding it difficult."

 

 _Ah_. Rylen doesn't know why the Commander chose to give up lyrium – though given the state of Kirkwall he could hazard a few guesses – but, as Cullen's second-in-command, he's witnessed more of the ups and downs of his withdrawal than anyone else.

 

He liked Cullen the moment they first met, sensing in him a kindred no-nonsense spirit, and their weeks working together to stabilise Kirkwall into some sort of functioning order turned that liking into a deep-seated respect. There's a reason Rylen was so quick to join the Inquisition, and it wasn't anything to do with the Divine, Maker rest her soul. Knowing exactly what Cullen's been putting himself through has made him respect him all the more. He admires him, even – though he'd never embarrass Cullen by admitting it to his face.

 

Privately he's been a tad worried, in the months he's been stationed in the Approach, not knowing first-hand how Cullen's been managing. He's had to settle for gleaning what he can from the state of his missives, which isn't much. Still, at least in Skyhold Cullen has people to watch his back. No less than Seeker Pentaghast, at that, which is a fearsome prospect and make no mistake. Would have a lesser man quaking in his boots.

 

Rylen checks around them for eavesdroppers and asks quietly, "You going through a rough patch?"

 

"You could say that," Cullen snorts, then his face falls sombre. "The last few weeks have been... difficult," he confides. "And it's getting worse."

 

Rylen tries not to let the concern show in his face or his voice. "Probably just stress, ser," he says, "from planning the siege. Things will calm down once you get back to Skyhold, I'd wager."

 

Cullen twists his mouth and hums low in his throat. He turns to Rylen and fixes him with an shrewd look. "If I'd been killed in battle," he says, "command would have fallen to you, Captain."

 

"..Yes, I'm aware of that, ser."

 

"I want you to uphold that. If something happens to me-"

 

"Ser-"

 

" _If something happens_ to me, if I become... unfit for duty, I want you to take over my position. You're the best man for the job, Rylen. There's no one I'd trust with it more."

 

Rylen stares at him a moment, then nods slowly. "Thank you, ser," he says, "I'd be honoured. But I don't think it's going to come to that."

 

"Hm. Well, we'll see, won't we." Cullen pats him on the shoulder. "I'll leave you to it, Captain."

 

"Get some rest, ser."

 

Cullen waves this off dismissively and lopes off into the night. Rylen watches him leave; he's a little wobbly on his legs, but he probably won't collapse before he reaches his bedroll. Not a cause for concern, not yet, Rylen tells himself. Just a man who needs a good night's sleep.

 

Speaking of which, Rylen's own bed is still calling his name. He readjusts his cloak against the cool of the desert night air and continues on up the hill.

 

 


End file.
